Tryptamine
by Cinmirella
Summary: It may not be easy for Ramona to pull back the curtains and peer into the future, but it seemed she had been born with a few preconceived pieces of her own life. Pietro had always been her silvery prince, she just had to find him first. (Pietro Maximoff/QuicksilverxOC)
1. Prologue

**A/N:** I've never put so much thought and actual research into a fanfiction. I've published little things here in there since having an account that I never went very far with, but I am so pumped about Tryptamine! Ramona is my pride and joy as a character, and I hope you guys love her as much as I do.

This is a Pietro Maximoff and OC pairing, and obviously AU. Can I just say that on a real level Pietro shouldn't have died? Like, Quicksilver is literally so fast that he can run into the future. Granted, the Marvel Cinematic Universe's Maximoff twins aren't their actual mutant counterparts but good lord. I'll end that with saying that his death just really made me sad, so I wanted to change it.

Enjoy and please let me know what you think in your reviews!

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Prologue

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light." –Dylan Thomas

* * *

He was so much better now; his speed, his thought process, his strength. He could see all of the trivial little details in life that were lost on so many others. He could heal from wounds faster, could quail the effects of pain to a minimal level. He had been brought to his knees, broken, and put back together again. Wanda too. The agony that came with signing their lives away had eventually culminated into a gracious blessing because they were so much more now. But that no longer held any significance.

Pietro Maximoff knew he was going to die. He could feel it already. A numbness was sweeping up the appendages of his body, and unforgiving shadows were blanketing along the peripherals of his vision.

Dying hadn't been his end game. The initial impulse that ignited in his mind when he saw the Hawk crouching down in preparation to use his own body to shield the young life he held was to simply dash the two away from the rapid gunfire. But he had spotted them too late, hadn't been good enough to save them and himself. So Pietro made a choice; transferred the archer's doom onto himself.

 _You didn't see that coming._

The only regret he felt was leaving his sister. He knew, if their roles were reversed and she were the one that had sustained a body full of bullets, he would go insane with grief. But it wasn't Wanda, and that gave him solace.

His sister was alive. She was alive, strong, and fighting for a cause. She would be well looked after by their new allies… no. Not allies. Their team. They were finally fighting with the right team. People that would sacrifice everything for their world, his city, a child. Wanda would be an avenger, would become something greater than she already was. He felt it.

The only regret he had was not being able to see it, experience it with her.

He was going to die. He understood this. The Hawk's eyes were burning into his own with an intensity that could not be paralleled with words, but he understood that as well. The immeasurable gratitude and the terrible reality that there was absolutely _nothing_ the archer could do to save him.

 _You didn't see that coming._

But it was going to be ok. He wanted to ask Clint to look after her, but something told him that the request wouldn't be needed. And the darkness, inky black and immeasurable was unfurling like the wings of a crow and clouding his eyesight completely. Then he was falling.

Pietro did not have an epiphany, nor was he accosted with images of all the joys of life that he would not experience. He only recalled one thing, one memory.

He and his sister's tenth birthday, the last one they were allowed to celebrate with their parents. The delicious, sweet berry _palacinke_ his mother had made. The light in his sister's eyes when she had been given the pretty dress he had helped his mother pick, and his own joy at receiving new shoes that benefited a runner's feet. It was a wonderful day, but he was falling and even the shining crystal eyes set in the little face of his sister were slowly disappearing.

 _I am sorry Wanda._

 _Mama. Tata. I am coming home._

And for a small eternity he did. He was floating, or standing, he could not tell. But they were there. His parents. His mother's beautiful dark hair fluttering around her angelic face. His father's warm, laughing brown eyes. He could feel them.

 _I have missed you so much._

A heavy hand on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze.

 _We have never been truly separated._

His mother's soft hand on his cheek. He turned into it, overcome with the emotion of being reunited with who he had lost. Her voice was an echo throughout his entire being.

 _Nu a fost încă dragostea mea._

And Pietro was falling again, or being lifted? He could not tell the difference anymore. His parents were fading away and he panicked, felt true fear.

 _Not again, please._

There was an insistent pulling of everything he was and could ever be, and he struggled. But the fight left him just as soon as it had come when he felt himself being enveloped by something divine. Cool and silky and loving. Pietro soaked it in, felt a peace he didn't think was possible after once again losing sight of his parents. He was weightless within the depths. And then he was propelled with a force that vibrated throughout his entire essence.

Pietro Maximoff's eyes flew open and he choked on a ragged breath. He couldn't process the expeditious changes that had been reaped onto his conscious, could not feel the pain his body was in.

But he could see. Gold and green twining together to create a pair of ethereal eyes that stared down with too much of everything. They were the type of eyes that could make men beg and weep. He could hear. A husky voice murmuring in a tranquil, affectionate tone. A language that was musical. And then he could feel. Cool hands caressing the burning skin of his jaw in an attempt to soothe in whatever way they could.

And then the pain hit his battered frame in a way that took what little breath he had left, but the eyes stayed above him framed by dark eyelashes and set into one of the loveliest faces he had ever seen.

There were other hands on him now, pressing into the pain.

She was hurting too. He could see the blood, the shade of rich red wine, dripping from her nose. One dainty hand went to wipe the sanguine color away, and fearful that the other would leave him as well he grasped it into his own palm to keep it pressed to his face.

She was dipping down to his side though, in no way abandoning him to the other less affectionate touches. He followed the movement, kept her the only thing he could see.

She was whispering in that soft throaty tone again, but this time he could understand it.

 _Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light._


	2. Psychic

**A/N:** Hey there, my lovelies. This chapter takes a step back to the time of CA:TWS, and you get a feel for the type of person Ramona is. Unfortunately that means no Pietro, but please don't fret. We'll get there. Also, I truly appreciate the reviews guys. The responses I received made me feel all warm and happy inside. Please continue to let me know what you think. Also, I'll try to continue to update weekly but please keep in mind that I've been picking up more hours at work therefore my free time has lessened quite a bit. But I'm not complaining, ya girl likes money.

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Chapter Two: Psychic

"On the eastside, that's where I met my Ramona." –Bradley Nowell, Sublime

* * *

The morning was deceitfully splendid. The sun was still making its ascension to the center of the sky, but already the day promised to be warm and bright without the hindrance of cloud coverage. Soon enough, the little boys with toothy grins and little girls with messy braids would venture out to the various recreational parks that littered D.C. and return home with skinned knees and lifelong memories. What critters that could be found in suburbia were already scuttling about on their little dirty paws. One such creature, a vivacious young squirrel, scratched at his ears atop one of the small trees that grew within a manicured and fenced in back yard. The quaint one story duplex, brick with two white front doors for the different occupants, held an inviting aura and sat on a quiet street on the eastside of the city.

The squirrel, a little plump and sporting a very shiny coat due to his constant supply of nutrition via animal feeder, kept casting suspicious glances toward the human house. He wasn't worried about the right side of the sectioned off porch, just an old crow that barely went outside lived there. No, his attention was on the left, specifically the sliding glass door that would open multiple times a day to reveal a kind young woman (the reason he stayed so healthy) and his greatest rival: the beast. The hulking animal had yet to make his routine checks of the yard, which meant the tree dweller hadn't been allowed to get in his taunting and teasing for the day. The squirrel found the break in tradition most unsettling.

The "beast" in question was a large, muscular Pitt Bull Terrier with a bark that was incredibly more terrifying than his bite. Unbeknownst to the squirrel, Crixus had been out to relieve himself, but a bigger concern had caused him to come straight back inside without the usual lollygagging. If he knew that his break from growling and jumping at the trees had actually caused the pesky little rodent distress, Crixus would have actually been pleased. Instead, he lounged on a black swivel couch piled with purple and blue shaded pillows, thoughtfully chewing at a massive paw as he watched his upset mistress flitter about the room. She had returned home the previous evening in a shaky state and had yet to retire even though a full night had passed. His unwavering devotion would not allow him to stray from her presence for very long.

Unfortunately, no amount of sloppy kisses or big, green puppy eyes could help Ramona through the frantic state of mind she had descended into.

Growing up in the system was hard, but being the schizophrenic freak on medication was abundantly worse. So she had learned, the hard way, to shut everything out to just a gentle hum. It had taken years of practice, but it made for an easier way of life. If she didn't say weird things then she wasn't ostracized. Simple. She had her abilities under lock and key.

Thus, it had been ages since Ramona had last been struck and overcome unwillingly with the information her extra senses supplied, and it was practically nonexistent for her to see things without having the proper contact. And it was just fucking wonderful that she was on her way home from work when everything pounded through her skull. She was exceedingly fortunate to not have hit someone or caused an even greater catastrophe when she begun swerving between lanes. Saying that she had come home in a state of extreme anxiety was putting it mildly. Crixus, her little love bug, had only left her side to use the bathroom. His concern was just another validation that she must have been throwing off some very negative vibes.

Her brother, Sam. Her brother in everything but blood. Ramona rarely thought about such distinctions though; blood could hurt you way more anyway. She had seen him: Sam, a flash of shiny silver and then only one wing. He was falling, _she_ was falling. That was it, and now she couldn't get ahold of him through his cell. Nearly thirteen hours had passed, and she was running out of things to clean and occupy her mind.

 _Hey bro, it's me. Um, I need to talk to you about something, can you call me back?_

Her bathroom and kitchen had been scrubbed enough to pass a hospital's sanitation standards.

 _Sam, message me back please. It's important fam._

She swept every surface of flooring she had, mopped afterwards, and vacuumed the rugs.

 _Samuel I'm being for real! I had a thing and I need to talk to you about it! Call me back._

Her dresser drawers were torn apart and meticulously folded, all the laundry done, the pantry and fridge completely reorganized.

 _Sam._

 _Answer._

 _Your._

 _Fucking._

 _Phone._

Ramona had been folding silky blue sleeping shorts when _Tell Me Baby_ started to serenade her ears. She had been so ecstatic that she forgot that she had a special ringtone for Sam. _Damnit Clarissa_ , she thought unfairly in her disappointment at seeing her side job coworker's name instead of Sam's. She _really_ hoped the spunky blonde wasn't reaching out because they needed an extra hand, which was the most plausible reason to why Clarissa would be calling her at one thirty in the morning. Not even thinking to pretend to be asleep and just let her phone ring she accepted the call.

"Have you seen what's on social media?" Were the first words out of Clarissa's mouth.

Completely stumped, and not expecting the question, Ramona paused for a second while blinking slowly at a pair of red lace panties. "What?" She uttered after having to shake her head clear.

"Twitter." Clarissa said, slowing her speech down to draw out every sound as if she were speaking to an incapable individual. "Your brother was on it, with oh my God, Captain America. Fighting some guys on one of the freeway bridges."

Ramona was already up and moving before Clarissa had a chance to finish. She kept the phone cradled to her ear with her shoulder as she grabbed her laptop and logged in. Then, sensing she would be stationary for a few minutes at least, found the bowl she had packed hours ago on her spotless kitchen counter. "You saw Sam? Was he okay?" She asked, not at all patient enough to wait until she could log into her account. Crixus, who had followed her from room to room, was watching her with perked ears as if he couldn't wait either.

"Well yeah, I guess he looked fine. But he was with _Captain America_. Since when does Sam know Captain America? Do _you_ know Captain America?!"

Ramona didn't really bother with that question because she was already looking up Captain America hashtags for, what she assumed, was the latest news she could get on Sam.

"I'm sorry Clarissa, I have to go." She murmured distractedly while soaking in all of pictures and clips that were appearing. She pulled the phone away from her ear slowly, not registering Clarissa's threats of an ass kicking if she knew Captain America and hadn't brought him around. It was certainly a time to be alive when a gunfight ensued in the middle of the street and people stopped to snap pictures and record what action they could. But Ramona was grateful, because Sam did look to be in perfect health and rather heroic sporting his falcon wings and fighting alongside Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. Chronologically, his ordeal seemed to have taken place after her vision which did nothing to reassure her because she still knew nothing about his current welfare.

She hit her pipe, a pretty white marble colored twisted piece, and took another quick breath in order to prolong the amount of time she held the smoke in. The relaxation that entered her body was deliriously needed. She flopped down into a lying position that left the ending tendrils of her long hair to brush the wooden floor. Ramona smoked the rest of the bowl slowly, giving her mind a moment to rest and regroup. _Sam had been with Captain Steve Rogers…_

But maybe that was why he wasn't answering his phone? Such an item could be easily lost in a highly climatic situation. It was a notion that eased a new fear that was blossoming in her chest. She couldn't help it even if she tried; Ramona always felt like a burden. First to Darlene, then to her son.

Oh how she missed Darlene. Her beautiful smile, her chocolate eyes, the lovely bright scarves that were always a part of her wardrobe.

When Darlene passed, the best foster mom Ramona had ever been granted, Sam wasn't obligated to legally foster her the remaining five months until her eighteenth birthday. He had just lost his mother, was still dealing with the horrors of war. He didn't owe her anything.

Yes, she would have been destroyed if he'd exited her life because her year around him and Darlene had been a dream, but she would have understood. She knew she had issues, wouldn't have blamed him for not wanting to deal with them. He didn't abandon her though. Sam had become the most important person in her life. He knew everything, all the dark and dirty little things. He'd been the one to stand and clap for her at graduation, get her a car, make sure she was completely capable of providing for herself before allowing her to start looking for her own place. He'd taken her back to Texas, and held her hair away from her hysterical face when she vomited up everything in her stomach at that small, old cemetery.

It came down to her needing him more than he needed her, and Ramona lived with a deeply rooted fear that one day he would realize that she wasn't a necessity.

But if he was in a fight, he could have just lost his phone. She was still screwed with no way of contacting him either way. Instead of dwelling over such things, because she _knew_ Sam loved her and the universe couldn't be so cruel as to take that away, Ramona continued her rampaging cleaning spree. She had hardly noticed how much time had really passed by until the sun had started to rise.

She was in the middle of attacking her various knickknacks with a lap rag and polishing spray when her body went positively still. Someone was coming, had just stopped in front of her house. She knew the essence, the courageous fire that was Samuel Wilson. Life experience had made Sam a strong man, but Ramona knew him well enough to see even beyond that: he'd been born with a brilliant soul. She could feel it behind her eyes, see the dark red of his aura approaching.

Sam didn't even get a chance to reach for the handle on the white wooden door before it was blown wide open and he had one-hundred and forty pounds of Ramona to deal with.

Her arms were thrown around his neck, her cheek pressed against the leather of his jacket. Ramona closed her eyes and took a quick second to appreciate that he was alive and warm underneath her touch. Whatever she had seen had yet to happen, could have just been a fluke. God knew she wasn't infallible when it came to her third eye.

For his part, Sam didn't mind the fierceness displayed behind the greeting.

 _Then the Insight hellicariers scratch people off the list… a few million at a time._

Ramona's luminous smile, her glittering eyes, the way she had been so frustrated when her new blue rose bushes had refused to bloom (though he could see tiny buds peppering the green of the bushes on his way up the driveway). That's what he thought about when Sitwell revealed the horrifying purpose of the hellicariers. The image of her spirit being snuffed out in such an everlasting way: like his father, Riley, his _mother._ It had burned out any lingering doubts of his place by Steve's side. He would gladly fight, to the end if need be, for the captain. For her.

Ramona was still clutching at him, and he felt guilt thread its way through his consciousness. Of course she would know something was wrong. There had to have been at least some footage captured of him on the bridge that she'd probably seen. And it wasn't like he could call her. For one, he had no idea where his phone had ended up. In pieces most likely. Two, he wouldn't have allowed himself to put her in any danger if by some chance the call was traced back to SHIELD which was apparently infested with HYDRA operatives. The best option had been to show up unannounced, which was a pretty regular occurrence between the two of them.

It had never been a question in his mind to go to her. After every detail of their plan had been finalized, Sam made his request known.

"You have a sister?"

"Technically not by blood. My mom, she was fostering her before she had her stroke." Sam slid his eyes shut for a split second and tipped his head down, a silent prayer for the woman he'd lost, "Ramona wasn't eighteen yet, and I wasn't about to let her go back to the system." He took a step closer to Steve, the seriousness in his dark eyes more prominent than the captain had ever seen. "I need to make sure she stays locked inside today."

"If we can't bring the carriers down that's not going to matter." Natasha didn't speak with cruel intentions, but a brutal honesty that Sam didn't fault her for.

"We will." Steve said quickly, adamantly.

"She's right," Sam muttered, though he was grateful for the captain's endless optimism, "that's why I can't make a mistake. I need to know Ramona's safe or I won't be able to focus on the job."

"It won't be a problem." Steve assured him, looking quickly at Nick who nodded his assertion. He wasn't about to alienate someone they desperately needed by denying the man a rental car. So while Steve made preparations to go and "borrow" his old uniform and Natasha was readying herself to take on the appearance of Councilwoman Hawley, Sam had driven straight to the eastside of the city where his sister called home.

Ramona pulled herself slowly out of Sam's arms and gave her brother a tired smile. "You're okay," she murmured softly, more to herself than to him but Sam still heard her.

"Yeah kid, I'm fine… don't take this the wrong way but _you_ look like hell."

It was concerning to say the least. Ramona usually had a very vibrant glow about her. He would know, he'd had a hand in putting it there. But right now her skin was pale and ashen, the sparkle was gone from her eyes and her hair was tied up in a messy knot on top of her head.

Ramona huffed out a breath before turning and leading them inside. Crixus automatically went to sniffing at Sam's jeans, prompting him to lean down and scratch the dog's bulky gray head. There was a strong smell of fresh green apples in the air. "I love the smell of the green fabuloso," He called out to the general area where he thought her to be in, but he got no response. He straightened up, saw Ramona using her foot to right her velvety purple hallway rug.

"I saw you." She blurted out, eyes downcast and not meeting his. At first Sam thought she was talking about the bridge, but then she was looking at him with shiny, forlorn eyes. Like he was stuck under a breaking dam, Sam stood helpless against the torrent of words that flooded from Ramona's mouth, " _You were falling and there was only one wing and you were falling so fast and I felt how it with you, how scared you were, and then I couldn't get a hold of you and then Clarissa called me and told me to look online because you were with Captain America and I've been so worried and for a while I thought_ -"

During her tirade Sam had placed his hands on her shoulders and gently walked her backwards until he could push her down on her couch. Ramona took in a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut tight in an attempt to reign in her turbulent emotions. Being on the cusp of a breakdown for the entire night had finally caught up with her.

Sam sat next to her, put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Hey, hey, easy there Mona Lisa. Like I said I'm fine." He smiled down at her, putting away his own apprehension for the time being.

Ramona furiously wiped at her eyes, smearing day old mascara in the process. Good lord, she probably did look like a train wreck. "Yeah, maybe it was just a… a blimp or something," she said, glancing down at her smudged fingers.

"I wouldn't say that just yet." There was an ominous ring to his words that Ramona didn't care for.

Crixus watched, a little put out that he wasn't getting any attention, while the two locked into a staring match. He saw the way the male frowned in confusion, the way his girl's chest expanded. The silence was broken when both of them started speaking at once.

"Sam what the hell is going on?"

"I thought your sight didn't work like that."

Ramona waited a beat, but when Sam raised one of his eyebrows as he regarded her she sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "It doesn't, I mean, I've never really been able to see stuff without the person or whatever not around me."

She wasn't lying, and if she was she wouldn't even have known it herself. The world was full of energy. She was just able to hone into it. People, places, and things: everyday life left marks. That's what Ramona was able to do; feel, see, taste the remnants of prior experiences, or get a glimpse of future ones. She could feel auras, intentions, another's presence. But she couldn't recall a time when she'd been able to do so from a distance.

Sam just nodded his head, deciding it was best to let sleeping dogs lie with that one. "I always pack a parachute, just so you know."

Ramona stared hard at him, a full on pout plastered on her face. "Now. Samuel, what the hell?"

Sam shouldn't have laughed but he did. The world's population was at stake and he was laughing. He stood up from the couch, shaking his head and rubbing a tired hand over his face. Ramona, still on the couch, resembled a very frustrated puppy. "If you don't say anything, I'm just going to draw my own conclusions."

Not wanting her to have to find anything out through her abilities, and knowing he was being pressed for time he spilled everything to her. Not because he necessarily needed to, but because he wanted to. Meeting Steve by accident (and he was sorry that he hadn't told her about running into the hero sooner because yes, he knew that was awesome), having Steve and Natasha (yes, from what he'd seen from the redhead she seemed to be just as badass) crash his place because they were on the run, learning about the mass genocidal capabilities of the hellicariers, and finally his plans to help bring them down.

He didn't need to have her sixth senses to know what was going to come out of her mouth.

"No."

"But if I'm there maybe I can be on the lookout for-".

" _No._ I didn't come here to recruit you." He had been wandering about the room, picking up her little trinkets and studying them before moving on: a collection of faeries, a horned owl, and so many other eclectic little things that represented some part of her. But now he stood firm, solid, a commanding soldier. "I wanted to make sure you knew to stay your ass home and lock your doors behind me."

She was avoiding eye contact and biting the inside of her cheek. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he needed her to understand. "Ramona."

At the sound of her name, she looked up with a slightly pitiful expression on her face. He crossed the room and sat on the coffee table in front of her. He reached out to lightly put a hand on her cheek, made her hear what he had to say. "I can't do what needs to be done if I'm worrying about you."

Ramona knew he was right. She really did. While she was in no way helpless, Sam had made sure of that, she knew she would be no match for the type of men he was up against. She didn't like it though. She took his large hand from her face and clasped it between her two smaller ones.

"I can't lose you, Sam."

"You won't."

"I still saw… you were falling."

"I said I always have a parachute."

She was silent, looking at him in that piercing way she did. Then she threw her arms around him for the second time and held him tight. Crixus, alarmed at the quick movement, began pushing his head into the two of them until Ramona broke away with a quick laugh to rub at his muzzle. "There's that Mona Lisa smile."

"The Mona Lisa's barely smiling," Ramona responded, almost sulkily, but she forced an even bigger smile onto her face. For him.

Sam appreciated it, patter her cheek and then put a hand on her head as well as Crixus'. "I gotta go now kids.

Ramona followed him out to the SUV he'd been given, hugged him one more time, and watched as her brother drove away. The farther he got, the lower her heart sunk, but she had to have faith that he would be alright. He had to be alright. The walk inside was hard, but she made it. Then she locked all of her doors and windows, pulled the curtains shut. Ramona would most certainly respect and obey his wishes. After she made herself a cup of hot cinnamon and honey tea, she parked herself in front of her laptop and T.V. so she could have access to any local footage.

And then she waited.

* * *

Steve Rogers, the gentleman that he was, kept his eyes squarely on the bright smile that was being flashed at him. He hadn't really known what to expect when meeting Sam's little sister. The only description's he'd received had been, "a spirited, young night owl that worked two jobs and took online classes", and a series of tales that Sam had reveled him with from the five years he'd known her. Sam was proud of her, Steve could hear it in his voice.

" _She wants to help us find Bucky."_

" _How?"_

" _She's… she's kind of a psychic."_

Steve, not really knowing why, had imagined a tiny, waifish like girl with pale skin and dark eyes.

Ramona Violet Villalobos was the exact opposite. Short yes, and her waist was very slender, but he wouldn't use the word _tiny_ to depict her. Her curves were voluptuous, the skinny jeans and tank top she wore not really help at all to hide them. Her legs were long, and through a few strategic rips in her jeans he could tell that they were the same creamy olive tone as the rest of her body- except for the tattoos. He could make out a few, the clearest one being a beautiful barn owl that extended from her shoulder and across her collar bone and ending close to her cleavage. But he tried to keep his attention on her face, a very pretty heart-shaped face with a clear complexion and high cheekbones with a beauty mark dotting the left. The only imperfection he could see were light scars across her right cheek around to the jaw. He was curious to how she acquired them. Her hair was a rich brown color, but he could see hints of maroon in her waist length, wavy locks, and her eyes were a lovely hazel shade.

Ramona was a very beautiful woman, and Steve found himself pitying Sam a bit because he had gotten a feel for how protective his friend was over her.

He also realized that she was holding out a dainty hand for him to shake, which he quickly did. Her hands were small and soft, but her grip was firm. The smile she had been exhibited simmered down to a playful grin. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Rogers."

"Just Steve." He quickly corrected with a smile, not wanting her to feel she had to use honorifics, "It's nice to put a face to the name I've been hearing so much about. Your brother's had a lot to say about you."

Ramona cast a quick glance to Sam, who was leaning against his kitchen counter, "I hope he hasn't been slandering me."

"Of course not," Steve answered, not wanting the young woman to think he held any negative thoughts about her. Not when she had offered her help so willingly, which was something he had been told she'd never done nor been comfortable with. "I've heard only good things about you.

"Why?" Sam asked, locking his little sister in with a smug smirk, "What _don't_ you want him to know?"

Steve felt a little lost, especially when Ramona shot Sam with a rather unladylike facial expression that included and upturned lip, rolled eyes, and the tip of her tongue sticking out.

"Shut up, Samuel."

Ramona turned back to the captain and her smile returned. "You have that stuff I needed, yeah?"

"Yes," Steve looked down at the kitchen table and put a hand on the little box he'd been requested to bring. It was small, black, and didn't appear to hold much value. Inside however, were pictures of Bucky, letters he'd written, even his old dog tags. "I really appreciate this."

Ramona made a humming noise as she walked forward and gracefully sat down on one of the kitchen table chairs. It seemed that she tuned the other two men out as she pulled the black lid off and grasped the first thing that she saw- a letter he'd written to Steve. The paper was yellowed, a symbol of age, and Ramona handled it with the utmost care. Steve watched as she gingerly unfolded the letter, and tipped her head as her eyes began to move over Bucky's tidy scrawl.

Not lifting her intensity from the memorabilia, Ramona slid a leather, cinched type backpack from her shoulders and shoved it down the table in the general direction of the two men.

"I made this freaking awesome avocado chicken salad, if y'all want some."

Sam wasted no time, moving from the counter to yank the bag toward and pulled out a medium sized tupperware bowl full of a light green chunky substance and what looked like freshly made bread. Sam served up sandwiches, but Ramona didn't touch hers for quite a while. Steve knew, because he was shooting her side glances as she continued to pore over the box's occupants while he and Sam sat in the living room.

Finally she huffed, dropped a picture of Bucky that was taken from before the war, and Steve watched her take a large bite of one of the sandwich halves. Then, she turned her body in the chair and gave Steve an apologetic expression.

"This, I'm not really used to doing this." She put her elbow on the back of the chair and propped her chin on it, "I don't know, I'm kind of getting these little flashes but it's so hazy. He's… really, really confused. I don't think he even knows what he's doing. Considering what the guys been through, I get it, but it's really making this hard."

"You have an amazing gift, and anything helps. Thank you."

There was so much sincerity in Steve's eyes, like he was genuinely thankful for her. And she hadn't even found anything useful. Ramona had never been a good receiver of compliments, but instead of rebutting Steve's praise she just blushed. "You don't mind if I hang onto these do you?"

"Not at all."

Ramona smiled and scratched at her neck, before going back to her only connection to Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. _I really need to start meditating or some shit._


End file.
